


In Sickness, Then in Health

by alwayslily22, Des98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursleys, Alive Sirius Black, Bisexual Harry Potter, Come on, Drarry, F/F, Gay Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, I mean, M/M, Severus snape is an ass, Sick Harry, Sickfic, Sixth year fic, Snape voice obviously, Sort Of, Well - Freeform, alive Cedric diggory, and maybe even feels badly about it, and trust us, awesome moaning myrtle, because I can’t kill my boos, because he’s so stupidly in love with harry, but at least he becomes aware of it in this instance, but they’re all alive, draco doesn’t want to be doing what he’s doing, fight me, free Sirius black, fuck off or fire me, he could never NOT be in love with harry potter, hermione is really awesome too, he’s secretly her favourite patient, he’s the best godfather ever, he’s tried, i honestly don’t care, if you don’t think so fuck off and read something else, it isn’t really mentioned but I mean, it’s soooo obvious, maybe not so secretly, mentions of abuse, only one of those things is remotely changeable, or be in love with harry potter, our smol children, pansy Parkinson is a badass lesbian, poppy loves harry like a grandson or a nephew, potter sexual, so nothing’s really changed from canon there, so there, spoiler alert it’s what he’s doing, supportive empathetic ron weasley, thanks for coming to the tag talk, that’s canon come on, we love them all, well i guess he’s like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayslily22/pseuds/alwayslily22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: The Dursleys never vaccinated Harry against any wizarding diseases.  This becomes a problem.  Until it’s not a problem anymore.Draco doesn’t want to be doing what he’s doing, but the life of his mother is at stake.  He’s also head-over-heels in love with Harry Potter and terrible at showing it.  This becomes a problem.  Until it’s not a problem anymore.





	In Sickness, Then in Health

    Harry pulled himself out of bed on a Tuesday two weeks after classes started, holding back a groan as he rubbed his eyes.  Normally he had no problems waking up this early- his life thus far had forced him to adapt into a morning person. Today, however, it was difficult, because he felt like _utter shit,_ and he cursed his terrible immune system.  But he forced a smile onto his face, not wanting Ron and Hermione to catch on and make him go to Pomfrey- he spent enough time there already.  It sucked that he was coming down with something this early in the year, though, still tired from the Dursleys. He’d thought maybe, _maybe,_ now that Sirius was a free man, he could spend most of the summer with him, but Dumbledore insisted that he stay with the Dursleys right up until the week before school started- with Voldemort back, he insisted, it was too dangerous for Harry to be anywhere else but within the confines of the blood wards.

    Sirius had thrown a fit, of course, but Harry had managed to convince him not to get into a public battle with the headmaster when his name had just been cleared.  He was fine at the Dursleys, he’d insisted. Of course he’d rather stay with his godfather, he’d assured Sirius, but things weren’t so bad there. He’d lied, of course.  Vernon hadn’t been happy when Dumbledore said he’d be staying the whole summer, although Harry wasn’t sure why- free labour, and it’s not like they put any resources into feeding him or clothing him.  Really, the only thing in the house Harry ‘ruined’ was the belt his uncle used to beat him with, and the healing wounds on his back pulled uncomfortably as he stretched his muscles, reminding him of this.  They didn’t like Harry’s nightmares, they said- apparently he kept them awake. Well, that wasn’t his fault- anyone would have nightmares, if they’d nearly watched their friend die in a graveyard one year and then nearly watched their godfather fall through the veil the next.  

It had only been a quick stunning spell from Harry that saved Cedric, hitting him just before the curse did and making it _look_ like Wormtail had succeeded, and thank Merlin Moony had blasted Sirius away from the veil just before he fell through.  Sure, he’d been sore for a couple weeks, but better than dead. And he’d remarked with a cheeky smile that Remus could make up for it in the bedroom, which had Harry gagging.

Now he felt like gagging for an entirely different reason as nausea churned in his stomach, and he shoved the discomfort to a little box in the back of his mind like he did when he was hurting at the Dursleys but had to keep cleaning so they wouldn’t make him hurt worse.  He smiled at Ron and Neville, touched up the silencing charms around Seamus’ bed (where he and Dean were having a pre-breakfast romp and didn’t bother to spare the rest of them the noise), and started walking down to breakfast, arm and arm with his best friend. While he normally had no problem with Ron’s atrocious eating habits (Dudley’s were worse, after all, even if his cousin _had_ been nicer this summer, often bringing him ice after Vernon had been particularly violent, or sneaking him a bit of extra food when he could), today they made the wave of queasiness rise up further as he watched the redhead fork eggs into his mouth as fast as he could.

“Aren’t you gonna eat, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking at him in concern.  Harry knew what she was thinking- he was too thin, as he always was after a summer with the Dursleys.  He was just glad his best friend couldn’t see what he looked like under the glamours, or the worry might send her into hysteria.

“Not super hungry this morning,” he told her, shrugging casually for effect, which made an ache pull at his muscles that most definitely _wasn’t_ from the wounds on his back.  Bloody fuck, he hoped this didn’t last too long.

“Oh, well, alright then,” she hummed discontentedly, but she was trying not to push him.  Harry appreciated that, and forced down a bit of dry toast just to make her feel a little better, and the frown lines on her dark forehead eased just slightly.  He was glad his own brown skin tone wasn’t as prone to fading into a gray pallor as that of white people, or otherwise he’d surely look _ghastly_ right now.  After breakfast and before classes, he slipped into a bathroom, touching up the glamours so that they hid not only his hollow cheeks but the sheen of fever sweat forming on his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes.  He realised belatedly that he was in Myrtle’s bathroom, so he forced a cheerful greeting for the ghost out of his scratchy throat, and was rewarded with one of her rare genuine smiles, the kind only he was really privy too.

A flash of blonde hair appeared at the doorway, and Harry realised it was Malfoy, but he wasn’t really feeling up to animosity at the moment.  Yes, the git had stepped on his face, but then again, he _had_ been spying on him.

“Sorry,” he said with a curt nod, “I was just leaving.”

“No, it’s alright Potty,” the blonde said, a sneer curling his lip.  “Wouldn’t want to disrupt _the saviour’s_ morning routine.”  He turned and left, and Harry sighed, leaning his stinging, burning back against the blessedly cool tile.

“Was it just me, or did he not seem as snide as usual?” Harry asked his ghostly friend, and she came closer, a pensive look on her face.

“He normally wouldn’t have given up a chance to fight with you that easily,” Myrtle agreed.  “I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

“Thanks Myrt,” Harry couldn’t help a little chuckle as he added.  “Just not the same way you ‘kept an eye on’ me in the prefects’ bathroom fourth year though, please.”

“Hey, that’s how _we_ became friends though, isn’t it?” She teased, and he rolled his eyes at her, wincing when it exasperated his headache.

“I suppose, although maybe we would have become friends faster if you hadn’t been witness to my clumsy attempts at romance with Cedric,” he added, before the flash of concern in her translucent eyes could grow into asking him if he was alright.

“You two _were_ rather cute together- I kinda wish that had worked out.”

“Eh, we’re better as friends, anyway- the war was starting, and I didn’t want to add the stress of a relationship to that.  Besides, this way there was no chance of jeopardising what we had if we ended up not working out. I like Ced- he’s a good friend and I’m glad to have him around, but he’s good with Cho.  Besides, he’s starting auror training right now, and I don’t think I’d want to be in a relationship with an auror- too stressful, worrying about them all the time.”

“What are you gonna do now that _you_ don’t wanna be an auror?” The ghost asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said- what he really wanted _now_ was a headache relief potion, but he wasn’t going to go to Pomfrey this early in the year- he didn’t have his strength back fully from the summer yet, and as such he was worried she’d see _right through_ his glamours (there had been some close calls before, but luckily he was good at glamours- he’d been casting them accidentally since he was little so nobody would ask questions.  Not that anyone on Privet Drive would have cared if the orphaned Pakistani kid was having the shite beat out of him anyway). He couldn’t let that happen- one more summer and he was free, and he didn’t want the truth about his home life coming out now when there was so little they could do about it, and when it would just make his loved ones worry about him.  He’d be fine- he’d have to be.

____

By the end of charms, his resolve was weakening.  The headache had only developed further, and now it was a steady, pulsing throb behind his eyes.  His glasses were old- he hadn’t had a new pair of glasses since he was seven, and even the first one was just an old pair that Petunia just showed up at the house with one day- so it wasn’t that he wasn’t used to headaches, but this one was well on its way to a full-blown migraine.  In addition, his throat hurt, so he’d been casting non verbally without even really thinking about it, and the unwanted attention he’d got when Flitwick saw him doing it and gave him extra points for using ‘advanced techniques that hadn’t been taught yet’ was uncomfortable. Now everyone was looking at him like he was the ‘great Harry Potter’ again, which was annoying- everyone had gone back from hating him to adoring him so quickly it gave him whiplash, and even his friends, who didn’t hero-worship him, were still pestering him about when he’d learned to cast nonverbally.

“Dunno,” he said.  “Just did, I guess.”  He ignored Hermione’s appraising, curious look and scratched at the glamoured blood-quill scar on the back of his hand- his friends didn’t even know it _had_ scarred permanently, and he liked it that way.

By the time they’d walked into Defence Against the Dark Arts, the itch on his hands seemed to spread up his arms and down his back, but Harry couldn’t scratch without drawing attention to himself, and besides, if he tried to scratch his back, the scabbed-over lashes would break and bleed anyway, and the tickling feeling of dripping blood would only irritate him further.

Nevertheless, the itch, combined with the migraine and the sore throat and what he was sure was a fever was making it hard to focus, and he just wanted this class to be over so he could go and sleep through his break _and_ lunch, and then maybe he’d feel better afterwards (just _once,_ hopefully, luck could be on his side).  But of course _Snape_ was teaching this class, and his relationship with the man had only worsened, after last year.  He wanted to go up and yell that he hadn’t been quite so bad at occlumency as that, that the flashes of minorly unpleasant memories that the potions master had caught had been the front he’d put up to hide the truly _horrifying_ ones, the ones with the hunger gnawing at his insides and the beatings and the cupboard and cold nights in the winter with only one threadbare blanket.  Most of all, though, he wanted to scratch this damn itch! It had started to go down from his back to his bum and his upper legs, and he could feel it flushing up his neck as well.

Hermione and Ron seemed to be engaged in conversation, so maybe he could just indulge a little, just dig his nails into the skin of his arms where the niggling discomfort in his nerve endings seemed to be taunting him the worst.  Just one little scratch…

“Potter!” Snape barked.  “Didn’t you hear me- I said pair up!”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled, reluctantly pulling his nails away from where they’d barely touched his skin.  “Yeah.” He _hadn’t_ heard the man, because he hadn’t been paying attention, but whatever…

“Yes _sir,”_ Snape corrected snidely, and Harry wasn’t sure what possessed him to say what he did next- he wasn’t really even thinking, to be honest, just letting his mouth wander on its own while his mind focused on the pain and feverish cold and the awful _itching._

“There’s no need to call me sir, professor,” he quipped, and the head of Slytherin glared at him while the room went deadly silent, but he could see his fellow Gryffindors looking at him in awe.  Ron’s face was a triumphant beam, Seamus and Dean exchanged surreptitious high-fives, and even Pansy Parkinson was holding back a laugh.

The professor’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  “Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter, and detention with me for a week.  I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter… even the _chosen one.”_ Merlin, Harry hated that nickname.  None of Harry’s follow Gryffindors looked like they minded being in the negatives, point-wise, if it earned them that _magnificent_ moment of snapback glory, but the Pakistani boy couldn’t bring himself to be appreciative.   _Perfect,_ he thought, _just fucking perfect.  Losing sleep because of detention is_ **_absolutely_ ** _going to help me kick whatever illness I’ve picked up._

Angrily, he gave a savage scratch to one of his itching arms, but it brought him no relief.  Hermione was clearly thinking something along the lines of ‘well, what did you _think_ was going to happen?’ But she saw the expression on his face and said nothing, merely patting him on the shoulder, and _Morgana’s tits!,_ another fucking _itch_ sprang up.

He managed to perform decently in class, although definitely below his usual standards, and Snape made a snide remark about ‘fame not being worth much with no hard work behind it,’ but Harry ignored that one as he picked up his bag, which felt heavier than usual.

“You guys go on,” he told Ron and Hermione.  “I didn’t sleep well, so I’m gonna go nap for a bit.  I’ll see you in herbology.” Hermione raised her voice to say something about lunch, but Harry put a placating hand on her arm.

“I’ll call Dobby to bring me something for lunch,” he lied through his teeth.   _Take that,_ he thought vindictively to Umbitch and her blood quill.   _I’ll tell all the fucking lies I want._

“Oh, alright then,” Hermione agreed, and Ron just smiled at him.

“Get some sleep, mate, you seem a little off today.”  Harry just waved him off, saying he was tired and groaning internally- he _needed_ to nip this in the bud.

____

Harry pulled off his robes and got into bed, but the sheets tickled his skin, and the itching kept progressively getting worse until it was almost unbearable.  He was now far too uncomfortable to sleep, so he headed to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

 _Fuck,_ he thought to himself when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror- he was covered head to toe in small red blisters, and he knew from the description in one of his old textbooks (and from the terrible itching) that he’d come down with dragon pox.  He was _supposed_ to be vaccinated for this sort of thing, but the Dursleys had told him in no uncertain terms that they weren’t taking him to that ‘freak hospital’ to ‘drag _even more_ freakiness into their house’ when he’d anxiously broached the subject at eleven- but he wasn’t about to tell Pomfrey and raise questions, so he just hoped he wouldn’t come down with anything he should have been vaccinated for.  So far, it had worked- until now, that is.

Well, at least dragon pox wasn’t contagious, since everyone else in the school was properly vaccinated, so he could hide the illness and go about his life- otherwise, he would have gone to Pomfrey out of fear of infecting someone, and that would raise questions he didn’t want.  Hopefully he could just muscle through this on his own, then.

 _Fat chance of that,_ his aching head supplied.   _Dragon pox is a serious disease._ Well, Harry had beat the odds before, so he’d just have to do it again- perhaps he could ask Dobby to bring him some potions tonight, after his detention.  The elf would be discreet about it. He wished he could take them now, but they would likely make him drowsy, and the anti-itching salve would smell funny and give him away.

Dinner that night was _agony,_ the noise aggravating his headache, the smells his nauseous stomach, and his hands wanting nothing more than to scratch himself to ribbons.  But even if he was alone, he couldn’t- he knew from having chicken pox as a child that scratching only made it worse, and besides that, he couldn’t risk opening the blisters and getting an infection.  Hermione broke into his train of thought when she asked him anxiously why he wasn’t eating.

“Had a big lunch from Dobby,” he supplied, another lie- they were piling up.  “Still full.”

“Still, you ought to eat _something,”_ she answered, worrying her lip, and Harry reluctantly grabbed a bit of potatoes, to please her.  He nibbled them, begging them to stay down. And they did- barely- until the end of dinner.

“Gotta go to my detention,” he told them quickly, rushing out to the nearest toilet (which thankfully wasn’t Myrtle’s, or she’d worry about him) to throw up, retching uncontorolably and cursing his rotten luck.  He was going to lose a lot of weight that he couldn’t afford to during this whole miserable debacle.

“Potter, take a seat,” Snape ordered with no preamble when he entered.  “You’ll be despining lionfish- try not to ruin my ingredients, although I know such a thing is nearly impossible for you.”

Harry bit back a wave of resentment, rising along with his nausea at the smell of the dead fish- he could be good at potions, if the other students didn’t sabotage his assignments (not just Slytherins- both second year during the chamber incident and last year when everyone thought he was crazy, kids from all houses had been doing it).  And if he could see the board properly through his awful glasses, or tell the difference between ingredients that looked similar (again, blame the awful glasses) or if the teacher wasn’t such a prick... Instead he nodded curtly and got to work- he had been cooking all the Dursleys’ meals since he was four, so preparation was something he _excelled_ at.  Deft, itchy fingers got to work on the fish as he despined efficiently, and soon he was zoning out as he did the job automatically.   _Merlin’s balls,_ he felt awful…

A sharp cry of “Potter!” broke through his disjointed haze a while later, and Harry looked up with bleary emerald eyes.

“Yes… _sir,”_ he made sure to add, not wanting further trouble.

“Cease whatever madness you are doing _at once!_  I will not have you rutting on my classroom furniture like some… horny street urchin!”

It was only then that Harry realised he’d been rubbing his back frantically against the back of the chair, unconsciously trying to ease some of the vicious itching sensation.  It was only as he forced himself to stop that he felt a trail of blood from the cuts on his back- _of fucking_ course he’d opened them up again.  He huffed a sigh, suddenly having a very difficult time retaining consciousness.

“Potter,” Snape suddenly looked at him suspiciously, his black eyes far too scrutinizing.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question, _sir,”_ he managed to choke out, hoping that his snide remark would detract the man from paying too much attention.

No such luck- a sallow hand snaked out to feel his forehead, and the face of the man connected to it darkened in an expression of anger, and, far, far underneath it (not that Harry noticed), concern.

“Merlin, you buffoon, you’re _burning up,”_ he swore.  His eyes narrowed.  “And yet, you look the picture of health…” he muttered, coming to a realization.   _“Finite incantum.”_

The effect was instantaneous and startling- besides the obvious dragon pox, Harry’s appearance immediately lost close to three stone, and there was an aging bruise on one cheek, nearly gone by this point.  His eyes were tired and his scarred forehead shone with sweat. The blood quill scar appeared too, although Snape hadn’t seen it yet.

“What the fuck did you do, Potter?” He snarled.  “You look like you’ve been in a torture camp!” Harry couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at how close the man had unwittingly gotten- he just shrugged.  Then Snape’s forehead wrinkled as a thought occurred.

“And you’ve somehow come down with _dragon pox,_ something every wizarding student is vaccinated for- _how on earth_ could that have happened?!”  Harry shrugged, but the Slytherin seemed to be coming to a dark realization anyhow.

“Merlin, Potter, the muggles _wouldn’t...”_ he swore.  “Who were you even staying with, anyway?”  Snape had never been one of the Order members assigned to guard duty, as Albus knew that his past relationship with Petunia could have created tension.

“Aunt and uncle,” he rasped.  “Vernon and Petunia Dursley.”

 _“Petunia?”_ he swore, with an exasperated groan.  “Really?!”

“What, did you think my mum had another sister?” Harry couldn’t help but grind out- just like Dumbledore, Snape had clearly ignored any signs he didn’t want to see.

“I didn’t think about it- a cousin or something, I supposed- I didn’t think even _Albus_ could be _that_ stupid.”  Harry would have rolled his eyes if his head didn’t hurt so much.

“Why are you pretending to care _now?”_ He asked, as the professor pulled his hand away from where it had automatically gone to scratch his neck.

“I don’t _like you,_ Potter, but dear Merlin, no child deserves to be _abused,”_ he said.  Harry wished he could deny that that was what it was, but objectively he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m not a child,” he declared instead, and Snape rolled his eyes.

“Yes, because hiding a serious illness is _completely_ adult,” he quipped, helping Harry out of the chair.  “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital wing so I can wash my hands of you.”

___

Madame Pomfrey was _not_ happy to hear that he’d been sick for the entire day and hadn’t come in, but she was _furious_ when she heard about the abuse.  She didn’t bother asking why Harry didn’t say anything- she _knew_ why they didn’t say anything.

“I’m not some kicked puppy,” he said obstinately, when he saw the emotions on her face.  “I _know_ what they did to me was wrong, and I asked not to go back, first year, and last year too- I _told_ Dumbledore I was unhappy, but he said I had to go for the blood wards, and there was no point bothering my friends and family when they’d only worry about something that wouldn’t change.”

“He _shouldn’t_ have said that to you- Sirius is your legal guardian now that he’s free, and he legally could have told Dumbledore to shove it, but he didn’t because Dumbledore told him you were okay at the Dursleys and that you’d agreed to go back for the sake of the wards.  If he’d known that you were even unhappy _in the slightest,_ he would have pulled you right out.  And now you won’t be going back,” she said firmly, as she settled him on a bed.  “I take it that _this,”_ she motioned to the full-body rash, “is because the muggles wouldn’t get you vaccinated.”

“Yeah,” Harry said- no sense denying it; they knew everything.

“Well, let’s get you comfortable,” Poppy declared practically.  “The anti-itching salve won’t relieve _all_ the discomfort, but it should take care of a good portion.”  

Harry realised that he’d forgotten they didn’t quite know everything when the nurse stripped his robes off and saw the lashes and scars on his back, and even Snape gasped.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, cutting off any further conversations.  “Can you please just put the salve on- I’m _really_ uncomfortable,” he admitted, although it wasn’t really much of an admission when it was quite obvious and expected for his condition.

“Of course,” Poppy pulled herself back into healer-mode.  “And Severus- grab me something for the wounds as well- they look infected.  And a nutrient potion, and something for the headache and nausea that comes with dragon pox,” she added, “and…” she ran a diagnostic charm, “something for bone strength, and for his organs- they’re underdeveloped from malnutrition.”  Harry just sighed sadly- he was going to be in here for _quite_ a while, and he’d have to tell Ron and Hermione and Pads and Moony, and they’d all lose their shit.

Snape brought all the requested items from the store cupboards, and Pomfrey _blessedly_ started with the anti-itching potion and started working it over his skin.  While it didn’t numb it _completely,_ it did take the worst of the edge off and make it a bit more bearable- he might be able to get some sleep, at least.

When Poppy got to Harry’s right hand, she took a sharp intake of breath and swore.

 _“What is this?!”_ She gasped, pointing to the scar from the blood quill.

“Umbridge’s detentions,” Harry shrugged.  “I thought she did that to everyone- McGonagall told me to keep my head down.”

“She most certainly did _not_ do that to everyone Potter, as you’re the only one in the school who wouldn’t have said anything, and she bloody well knew that,” Snape ranted, his expression dark.  “That is _highly_ illegal, and I guarantee your head of house didn’t know about it, because she would have gone _full Gryffindor,”_ he emphasized, which was his way of saying _batshit fucking crazy._

“Oh,” Harry said, then shrugged again.  “Well, nothing to do about it now- the ministry is a bunch of corrupt idiots.”  He didn’t quite care about the past at this point- it was the future he was worried about, of having to keep his family from going and burning the Dursleys house to the ground tomorrow, when he’d have to tell them about the abuse.  But even that couldn’t take up too much mental space at the moment, as he was semi-comfortable for the first time since the summer, with his headache gone, his nausea abating, and the itching manageable enough that he felt he could drift off to sleep.

“I’m quite certain we can press charges or _something,”_ Poppy was saying to Severus, but Harry wasn’t paying attention- he was already dozing off, the potions working their magic as drowsiness overcame him.

_____

    Harry woke up slowly, but when he did the discomfort came back full force, and he automatically reached a hand out to scratch his itchy chest, despite the fact that he still had cuts there from Vernon.  Unfortunately for him, he found his hand snatched up, and, immature as it might have been, he whined, and he cracked his eyes open to see Poppy above him, holding his hand in her grip with an unimpressed look.

    “More anti-itching salve, Mr. Potter?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him, and he nodded slowly, trying not to aggravate his headache.

    “Yes please,” he murmured, forcing himself to fold his hands in his lap and keep them from darting out to grapple at his shoulder or his arm or his legs or any of the other numerous itchy body parts.

    “If I catch you at it again, young man, I’m going to have to wrap up your hands,” she warned him, and he nodded to show he understood as she gathered a a little pot of his salvation and scooped some of the goop out with her fingers, starting on his right shoulder, and Harry sighed in relief as the discomfort under his skin stopped fizzling quite so aggressively.  

    “Nice stuff, isn’t it?” she nattered conversationally, as she moved onto his scarred back and pretended not to notice the way he tensed involuntarily.

    “Yeah,” Harry agreed.  “Seems to work a little better than last time.”

    “Severus tweaked the formula a bit- dragon pox is nearly nonexistent these days, so most standard anti-itching salves aren’t made to soothe quite so much discomfort.”

    “Snape did something to help _me?”_ Harry asked, jaw dropping.

    “I wish I could say your surprise was unwarranted,” Poppy sighed, handing him the jar after she finished rubbing the ointment on his face.  “Here,” she instructed. “You can do your private bits.”

    “Oh, er… thanks,” he responded, his embarrassed blush visible even through his dark skin tone.  She left to bring him a breakfast tray so he would have some privacy.

    Harry looked for his wand, and, when he couldn’t find it, cast some cleaning charms on his hands wandlessly after he finished with the salve… _down there,_ and then spread some more across his itching hands.  Pomfrey came back, and her raised eyebrows showed her surprise at the advanced magic, but she didn’t comment.

    “Might want to take it easy with the magic, Harry- you’re supposed to be resting,” she said instead, putting the tray on his lap.  He was still rather nauseous, but he thought he could handle the plain toast and small serving of oatmeal on the tray since a stomach soother had been provided as well.

    “Eat your breakfast, and then you can take your other potions,” she told him, and he bit back a groan- he _hated_ taking potions.  Pomfrey ignored his bit of petulance- she figured if anyone had a right to it, it would be him- and simply kept up a one-sided conversation.

    “It’s a good thing you’re an early riser, dear,” she told him.  “Minerva kept your friends from rushing off to see you when you didn’t show up by curfew, but she’s told them you’re under the weather and I expect they’ll have some questions.”

    “Well, I suppose I’ll have to give them some answers, then,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, and _shit-_ there were pox on his scalp as well, and now that he was aware of them, they were making it impossible for him to ignore the itch, and it’s not like he could put the salve _there._ “Just, please do me a favour and don’t call Pads and Moony in ‘til later, since I have a feeling Siri will be a task to calm down all on his own.”

    “Fair enough,” Poppy felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.  “Breakfast is starting for the students now, and you’re the only thing I’ve ever seen young Ronald cut meals short for, so I would prepare for an intrusion soon- unless you’re not feeling up to it, and then I could send them away…” she offered, but Harry shook his head _no._

“I don’t wanna make them worry all day,” he said, “and I might as well get it over with.  Here, can you hand me something to hide…” he motioned to his chest and back, and Poppy clucked maternally.

    “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I glamour them?  Any fabric is likely to exacerbate the irritation of the rash,” she warned.

    “No,” Harry said stubbornly.  “No more lies- I’ll just… hide the truth for a little bit longer, so they won’t worry.”

    “Alright then,” Poppy sighed and conjured a silk shirt, as non-obtrusive as she could possibly make it.  “Here you go.” It was green, to match his eyes, and Harry slipped it on with a slight smile.

    “Oh Harry,” Hermione burst in, Ron right behind her, similar anxiety on his face but seeming aware that _both_ of them rushing at Harry right away wouldn’t help the situation.  “We were _so_ worried when you didn’t show up to the common room last night, and-” she stopped suddenly, wide eyes taking in the spots all over him.  “Is that dragon pox? How on _earth_ did you get that?” she continued, without waiting for an answer- she knew quite well what it was.

    “The uh... the Dursleys never vaccinated me,” he admitted quietly, mumbling under his breath.

    “Those _bastards,”_ Ron swore, his face reddening in anger.  “I _knew_ they were no good- that’s _abuse,_ you know, refusing to vaccinate against deadly diseases, at least in the wizarding world… _wait,”_ his eyes suddenly caught up to his anger.  “You look _awfully_ skinny- skinnier than yesterday…”

    “So, I uh- _ImayhaveundersoldhowbadtheDurselyswere,”_ he blurted out, trying to get it all over with.  It sounded unintelligible to Pomfrey, but Harry’s friends were clearly even more in tune with him than they already seemed, as they both reacted immediately.

“Evil gits,” Ron spat vehemently, and Hermione muttered something about ‘hexing them off the face of the earth,’ but neither one seemed to be looking to him accusingly.

“So you’re not… you’re not mad?  That I kept it from you, I mean?” Harry asked, his eyes wide and far more vulnerable than he would have liked.  Hermione reached for his spotty hand.

“Oh Harry- no,” she promised, her voice cracking a little, words getting stuck as she tried to force them past the lump in her throat.  “We know it’s not about trusting us- you were scared, and they probably threatened you not to tell, and Dumbledore made you go back every summer even though you hated it there…” she trailed off, anger at the headmaster swelling up suddenly as her ‘enemies list’ got a little longer.

“Here, c’mon mate- let’s get you comfortable,” Ron said, smoothing out the duvet from where Harry’s hands had tightened around it in anxiety and the effort not to scratch.  The redhead reached for another pillow off a nearby bed and propped it behind his best friend’s head.

“Y’know, sometimes you remind me of your mother,” Harry chuckled a little, wincing, and Ron rolled his eyes before reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand and offering it so the other boy could wet his throat.

“It’s not a _bad_ thing,” Harry clarified.  “I love your mother.”

“I know, and she loves you too- sometimes I think you’re her favourite child,” Ron told him, rolling his eyes again.

“The fact that she didn’t have to _push me out of her_ might have had something to do with it,” Harry joked, and Hermione put a hand on his knee.

“Or it could just be that you’re a wonderful person and everyone in their right mind loves you,” she declared sternly.

“I suppose most of the wizarding world isn’t in their right minds, then?” Harry raised one eyebrow, and Hermione sighed.

“We’ve known _that_ for a while now, though,” she griped.  “I mean, public opinion has been vacillating wildly since fourth year.”

“Stupid Rita Skeeter,” Ron grumbled.

“I mean, I suppose I can’t blame them for believing some of what she wrote,” Harry mused, in his overly-generous way of trying to see the other side of an issue, even when the person didn’t deserve it.  “She _was_ right about my relationship with Cedric, after all…”

“Oh, so she gets your boyfriend right and suddenly everyone makes the jump and decides you’re _also_ having an orgy with half the school like she claimed,” Hermione snipped, although Harry knew her well enough to know it wasn’t directed at him but at Rita, and that it was a good thing for her that she wasn’t in the room at the moment, or the black girl would quite probably do something illegal.

“Hey, you don’t know,” he quipped, trying to distract her from her anger.  “I _am_ rather good, you know.”  He wiggled his eyebrows.

“A messy handjob in the bath doesn’t make you a sex god, Harry,” Ron jived, and Harry threw an empty potions phial at him.

“Prat- like _you’re_ any better.  I mean, if you had Viktor Krum down on his knees in front of you, I think you would have fainted instead of doing anything about it.”

“Yeah, well my crush _was_ a god, albeit a quidditch one…”

“We still keep up, you know,” Hermione said, laughing.  “Do you want me to set you up with him?”

“Merlin, _no!”_ Ron cried, scandalized.  “I mean, what could _I_ possibly say to him- I’d make a right fool of myself, and I’d never be able to look in the mirror without shame again!”

“Surprised you can do it now,” Harry joked, playfully flicking a freckle on Ron’s nose.

“Watch it, poxy,” Ron warned, but he was trying not to laugh.  “It took _three bottles_ of Sleek-Easy to try to get you presentable for the ball, and absolutely _nothing_ happened.”

“You’re such an arse,” Harry grumbled, but he was feeling a lot better (at least emotionally) as the redhead gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

“I _do_ have a lovely arse,” he responded, purposely mishearing.

“Maybe _Viktor Krum_ would think so too,” Hermione picked up again, and Ron glared at her.

“Gods, Mia, if you write and tell him that I had a crush on him, I _swear to Merlin…”_

“Why would I tell him you had a crush on him?” she asked innocently, before her eyes sparkled deviously.  “I mean, you obviously still _have_ one…”

“You absolute _minx,”_ Ron yelped, giving her arm a gentle pinch.  In return, she batted at his thigh.

Harry smiled at the two- he’d be willing to bet quite a bit that _they’d_ be together before they all left school, they just didn’t know it yet.  He watched Ron’s hands shoot out to tickle Mione in her sensitive sides, and he rolled his big green eyes.   _Merlin_ , they called _him_ oblivious.

______

Sirius, predictably, didn’t take the news well- of course, it didn’t help that he’d come in on his own to get a few potions for Remy- it was the day before the full moon, and he wasn’t feeling too well- and saw Harry sleeping with his shirt off.  It took both Poppy _and_ Severus- who luckily happened to come in around that time with more anti-itching cream- to put him in a full-body bind so he wouldn’t go and blow the Dursleys’ entire house to smithereens.  Luckily, the healer had known what a light sleeper Harry was and had put a silencing charm around the bed as soon as he’d fallen asleep, so he didn’t wake up to see any of this.

“You mean they… _my_ godson… how fucking _dare_ they- I will kill them, I will!  And Dumbledore too- _he_ was the one who guilted Harry into feeling like he had to go back, or he wouldn’t have lied to me about being fine!   _Ooooh,”_ he wailed suddenly, sounding rather like a forlorn hound as he pulled at his hair.  “I should have _realised_ something was wrong, when Harry immediately jumped at the chance to live with an ex-con he’d known all of thirty minutes instead of the relatives he’d spent twelve years with.”  Snape felt a bit dizzy as he watched him go from anger to self-blame all in one breath. Senseless mutt… he _didn’t_ feel bad for him, not a bit… he _didn’t!_

“There there,” Poppy comforted, a bit awkwardly- she’d never seen Sirius Black looking so helpless- she imagined that he’d felt that way after James and Lily died, but _she’d_ never witnessed him face a problem with anything other than unearned confidence as he marched in to do something undeniably stupid or make a plan sure to fail.

“Oh, he’s so _small,”_ Sirius sniffed, and Poppy conjured a tissue for him to blow his nose with, and another to wipe his eyes (although he’d already used the same hankie for both before she’d handed him the clean one).  “He looks like he’s _thirteen,_ without those glamours- oh, Prongslet…”

“Oh, _pull yourself together!”_ Severus growled, and he felt a vindictive sense of pride as Black finally stopped his sobbing to glare at him.  “That boy over there is going to need you to be _strong_ for him- Potter doesn’t need to worry about _you_ running off and doing something stupid while he’s trying to recover.”

“Well, _Snivellus,_ I didn’t know you cared- you seemed not to when you were _bullying_ him for six years!” Padfoot snapped.

“I _don’t,”_ Snape responded, but he was pulling at his collar guiltily.  “I may not have any personal attachment to the child-” and that’s what he looked like at that moment: a child, not a sixteen-year-old nearing manhood- “but I am man enough to admit that I may have… _misjudged_ him,” the words tasted bitter on his tongue, “and that he is, in reality, no worse than any other Gryffindor.”

“Nice _apology_ ,” Sirius sneered, looking feral- _fucking Snivellus,_ he thought.   _Can’t even do guilt right._

Severus began to lose his temper.  “Well _I_ don’t recall ever getting an apology from _you_ for making _my_ school years miserable.”

“What about when _you_ tried to hand _me_ to the dementors?!” Sirius snapped, and Poppy was about to seperate them both and give them a lecture on proper behaviour when Harry woke up- their yelling had been loud enough to break Poppy’s silencing charm around his bed.

“Pa’foot?” he asked drowsily, and Sirius was at his side in an instant, not even taking the time to give Snape one last glare.

“I’m here Pup,” he soothed.  “What do you need?”

“S’everything okay?” Harry groaned, holding his head as the midday light streamed through the curtains.  Sirius reached back to close them.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he promised.  “I’m sorry I woke you- I may have reacted badly to the news about the Dursleys, but none of that is your fault,” he assured his godson, who looked down and suddenly realised that his un-glamoured torso was there for all to see.  He scrambled to cover it, but Sirius softly put a hand over his own.

“Shhh… it’s okay Harry,” he said softly.  “You don’t have to be ashamed- if my parents weren’t able to hurt me with magic, I’d have had the same things,” he admitted, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.  Poppy was proud of him- this was a level of maturity he’d never shown before, and however churlish he might be towards others or however bad some of his plans, it became clear to her in that moment that he had what it took to be a parent, that he could be an adult where it mattered, _for Harry._

    “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” the Pakistani teen whispered, tears pooling in his eyes.

    “Don’t be sorry, you did nothing wrong,” Padfoot said with conviction.  “It’s _us_ who should be sorry, for not noticing.”

    “I didn’t give you much to notice,” Harry tried to ease the pain and self-deprecation on his godfather’s face.  “And at least you would have done something, if you’d known… the neighbours saw him hit me in public a couple times, or throw me out of the car in front of the school in the mornings, and they never said a word…”

    Sirius’ face tightened with anger.  “Oh, I _will_ do something pup, don’t you worry…”

    “No!” Harry’s spotty face clenched in panic.  “Don’t hurt them!- you’ll get in trouble, and I want you to stay… here, with me,” he had his eyes cast down towards his lap as he self-consciously made the admission, and the newly-reinstated Lord Black took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down as he reached for Harry’s hand.

    “Shhh, don’t worry Prongslet- I’m not going anywhere, ever again.  I will _always_ be here for you.  Always.”

_____

    Harry was bored.  And itchy- _so itchy._ And he hadn’t really much else to do except lie there and think about how itchy he was.  Sirius had given him some catalogues to pick out furniture for his bedroom at Grimmauld Place (with stern orders not to worry about the price- he’d blacked them all out, in fact), and he rather wished he hadn’t been so decisive- now he had nothing else to do.

    What he _really_ wanted was a good wank, but it was rather hard to rub one out when his hands were wrapped up in mits and his cock was covered in pox.  He was thankful for the lotion Snape had made, or else the discomfort would have been _unbearable,_ but he still wasn’t exactly comfortable.

    The corners of the headboard were wrapped up in cloth as well, since Harry had already tried to use them as scratching posts.  He didn’t see what the big deal would be about a couple more scars to add to his already-large collection, but Madame Pomfrey kept going on about ‘infection’ and other such inconveniences.  Personally, Harry thought an infection couldn’t _possibly_ smell worse than the salve- he’d never complain about drinking potions again, after this, because at least once you drank them they were gone.

    _Merlin,_ the hospital wing was cold.  Or was it hot? It was both at once, somehow, and Harry groaned miserably.   _Morganna’s tits,_ it was hot as fuck now.  Though his vision was piss-poor without his glasses, he could still make out the blurred outline of what he was _fairly_ certain was a glass of water on the night table.  The water was cold- cold was what he wanted, yes? He scrunched his brow in thought for a moment- oh, _he_ was cold.  Nevermind- he was hot again.  What was he doing? Oh right- water.  Water was cold, right? He was fairly confident that water was cold.   _Could_ water be hot? _Fuck_ , his head hurt.

    Either way, he was sure that the water could make him feel better.  How to get the water, though? He couldn’t exactly move his arms- they were too heavy, and they hurt.  They were itchy too, but itchy didn’t prevent him from moving- pain did. _So how to get the water?_ Oh right- he was a wizard!  Magic- that was a thing he could do to get the water.  He mentally patted himself on the back for his logical reasoning.  There was something he needed to _use_ magic though- a fancy… _stick… thingy?_ Oh right- a wand!

    Did he have a wand?  He was pretty sure he had a wand- Ron had a wand, and Hermione had a wand, so _of course_ he had a wand… but he couldn’t remember where it _was…_ (Madame Pomfrey had taken it when he tried to use it as a back scratcher).  Wait, did he actually _need_ a wand, or was that mostly for the aesthetic?  He couldn’t remember, although he was sure they’d covered it in class at some point.  Well, couldn’t he just _tell_ his magic to do something?  Yeah, that was worth a shot…

    “Water,” he croaked through his sore throat, willing the glass towards him, and _mother of Merlin,_ it came!  Magic was _cool!_ With shaking, aching fingers, he tipped it over, onto his chest, and _ahhh…_ nice and cold.  

    “Nice water,” he muttered, before the glass fell out of his fingers.  Hearing the shattering noise it made, Poppy came in to check on him, and then gasped, for some reason.  She waved her stick thingy- _her wand,_ Harry remembered triumphantly, but the nurse didn’t seem so triumphant.

    _“Fuck!”_ She swore, “40.8- I’ve never seen a temperature rise so fast!”  Then she waved her wand again, and freezing water soaked Harry’s entire body.  That was _too much_ water, some dazed, floating part of Harry’s brain thought.  

    “Severus!” She yelled into her Patronus.  “I need all hands on deck- we’re losing him!”

    _Severus,_ Harry thought- wasn’t that some emperor guy they learned about in primary school?  Wouldn’t he be _dead_ by now?  Harry was pretty sure _he_ should be dead by now- he felt like he was on fire.

    _Oh,_ Harry realised, as the professor came through, his face adopting an expression of pure terror.   _It’s_ **_Snape_ ** _!_ And how _weird_ was that, that teachers had first names?  He felt absurdly like giggling, but he didn’t think his mouth would listen to him.

    “How did this _happen?”_ Snape barked as they shoved a needle in Harry’s arm and dumped a number of potions down his throat.

    “Hell if I know,” Poppy grunted, doing some complicated spell work.  “Just this morning, he was complaining about lying around and that he was itchy.  His immune system must be worse than we thought.” She grit her teeth and dumped more cold water on him.

    _She looks kinda sweaty,_ Harry thought.   _Maybe I should help her out…_

_Cold,_ he ordered his magic.   _Cold cold cold!_

The temperature in the room immediately dropped ten degrees, and both teachers yelped as it cut through their robes, not nearly thick enough for the now near-freezing temperatures.

    “What in Merlin’s saggy left nut?” Severus exclaimed, but Poppy noted with relief that at least Harry’s temperature was dropping to something that, while definitely serious, was no longer life-threatening.

    “His magic is behaving erratically- my guess is that he had the glamours on for so long, commandeering such a substantial amount of effort, that now that he is no longer using them, all that power is searching for a new outlet.  He’s obviously far more powerful than we thought, and since he’s sick and confused, his magic is essentially doing whatever comes to mind. It should correct itself as he recovers and his core settles back down.”

    “So essentially, we’ve just pumped him full of enough medication to make him higher than a horklump, and his newly-liberated magic is going to do whatever the hell it wants,” Severus sighed.  Before Poppy could answer that, a rabbit in a top hat and waistcoat sprang to existence by Harry’s bed.

    “That is essentially correct, you greasy git- now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for tea,” he exclaimed, pulling out a stopwatch and hopping away.

    “Should we…” the potions master watched the rude rabbit leave.

    “Bigger problems, Severus- just be thankful it wasn’t the jabberwocky,” Poppy admonished as a number of fairy lights popped up, buzzing around Harry’s head.

______

    Harry must have been having a very… _interesting…_ dream, as a number of miniature dragon figurines (like from the tournament his fourth year) flew around what appeared to be a baking soda volcano for a muggle primary school science fair, topped by a styrofoam model of the solar system, except for the fact that the little painted yellow sun gave off real heat.  Riding the dragons were tiny plastic toy soldiers, but they were all damaged- missing a head, or an arm, or both. The entire production was taking place in a cupboard under a conjured set of stairs- the walls of the stairwell were clear so they could see it- and spiders marched along on the ground next to buckets full of cleaning supplies.

    Before they could really delve into the significance of whatever had sprung up from Harry Potter’s subconscious, Pansy Parkinson came in, dragging a pale, tired Draco Malfoy.

    “This idiot fainted in the hallway,” she called out.  “He needs to spend the night he- _what the fuck is that?!”_

“Potter is a little under the weather, and his magic is acting up,” Poppy explained, pulling the curtains around Harry’s bed before they could get a look at him.  “Now come, Mr. Malfoy- let’s get you to a bed.”

_____

    Despite his exhaustion, Draco couldn’t manage to fall asleep- he was too curious about whatever was going on with Ha- Potter.   _He’s Potter,_ he scolded himself. _He_ **_has to be_ ** _Potter._ He couldn’t let himself start thinking of him as Harry- it would only make the job he had to do even more difficult.

    The curiosity was only piqued by the rapidly vacillating temperatures in the hospital wing.  One second it was hot, nearly a sauna, and he was kicking his blankets off like they physically pained him, and the next it was freezing and Draco was pulling them back up and hunkering down under them for the insufficient warmth they provided.  The source of this mercurial indoor weather system seemed to be coming from Potter’s bed, because _of course_ it was Potter behind the strange happenings in the castle.

    _There’s no way I can get to sleep like this,_ he thought to himself with a groan.   _I’ll just have to tell him to cut it out._

    _You just want any excuse to see Harry,_ the dark, brutally honest corner of his mind piped up.

    _Shut up,_ he told it.   _I’m only doing this so I can sleep and get back to the job I’ve been assigned, which is to work_ **_against_ ** _Potter, so there!_

_You_ **_loooove_ ** _him,_ the little voice said again, and this time it sounded like Pansy.  Merlin, had she ever been mad when he tried to talk to Potter and then chickened out and broke his nose.  The memory came screaming back to him.

    “That’s not how you get a guy- wrong kind of _bone,_ you fucking idiot!” She’d yelled at him, after everyone had seen the storm of frustration coming to her face and left the two alone in the common room.

    “What do you know?  You’re a lesbian,” he had grumbled, then immediately regretted it as she turned to him, hands on hips.

    “And a damn good one- with a girlfriend, might I remind you!” She said, expression going soft for just a millisecond as she thought about Millicent.  Then it was back to exasperated disbelief as she pulled herself back into the conversation with her idiot best friend. “You’re just afraid that Potter would like you back and help you, and that you’d get everything you want, because you don’t think you deserve it,” she told him smugly, comfortable in the knowledge that she was right.  Well, except for the fact that she knew that Draco didn’t just _like_ Potter, he _loved_ him, but she wasn’t about to have _that_ argument again…

    “I’m _worried_ about my mother,” Draco insisted, and Pansy just rolled her eyes.

    “You know he’d help your mother- he’d do anything you asked, because he’s _perfect Potter,_ so annoyingly noble.  Honestly, why of all the eligible men in this school did you have to choose _him?”_

    “Funny that you think it was a choice,” Draco snapped.

    “Choice,” a different voice, a voice he knew quite well, pulled him back to the present.  “I don’t have a choice, Madame Pomfrey; I _gotta_ scratch.  So damn _itchy!”_

    Great, now Potter was _talking_ in his sleep too, as well as controlling the weather.  Well, that settled it. He couldn’t rest in these conditions!  Draco pulled himself out of bed and shoved his pale feet into the hospital-wing regulation slippers.  Listening to make sure the nurse hadn’t tiptoed out of her office to check on either of them, he padded softly over to Ha- Potter’s bed, pulling the curtains aside as quietly as he could.  A strange sight met his eyes.

    Potter was tossing and turning in the bed, rubbing frantically at his naked chest with mittened arms.  What caught Draco’s attention, though, even more than the very _obvious_ and rather serious dragon pox infection was the fact that his chest was quite noticeably scarred, apparently by someone rather brutal and with very little patience.  The raised lines were in no set pattern, often crooked or with one layered over another messily, but they _were_ quite prominent, and the wounds had clearly been deep and severe, in their time.  The top ones were still sporting the raw pink color of new scar tissue, and the irritation clearly wasn’t helped by the way the other teenager was rubbing at himself like a madman, his rest disturbed at best.

    “What the hell, Potter?!” Draco exclaimed to himself, wondering just what had led up to _this-_ Wizard’s didn’t do that to their children, it had to have been something from the muggles, and why the hell hadn’t Potter been vaccinated against this sort of thing?- as he grabbed Potter by the wrists, ignoring the voice in his head that told him that this was above and beyond what responsibility dictated in this sort of situation.  “Stop that!”

    Fever-bright emerald eyes opened to look at him, but they clearly didn’t grasp the full idea of what was going on- Potter was too out of it for that.

    “Let me scratch, you dumb handsome git,” he whined at the other boy, and Draco didn’t even have time to react to the fact that his crush enemy had just called him _handsome,_ because Potter kept talking.

    “Or at least get me off to distract me from the itching,” he muttered, the vexation coming through in his voice.  “Hard to rub one out with _these things.”_ He waved the mittens in the air, giving them a dirty look, as if they were the source of all his problems.  “Why you gotta show up in my fever dreams, anyway? Don’t you bother me enough in real life?”

    “Um…” for once in his life, Draco Malfoy was speechless.  He wanted, _so wanted,_ to do what Potter asked him, since he’d remember it only as an odd sort of dream and no one would be the wiser anyway, but he wasn’t going to… to… the point is, Har- _Potter,_ was unable to consent in the state he was in.  And besides, it was quite possible that whatever attraction he _thought_ he felt to Draco was caused by the illness as well- dragon pox was highly serious, after all, and there was a _reason_ all wizarding children were required to be vaccinated for it, by law, as soon as they reached two years old and were old enough to safely get it.  How Potter had slipped through the cracks via what was no doubt the fault of his awful muggles, Draco would never know.

    He was pulled back out of his thoughts as he felt the touch of soft flannel against his own hand, Harry’s pulling it up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles clumsily but clearly in what was an attempt to do so softly.  And _damn,_ even covered in dragon pox and with the absence of the glamours Draco just now realised he must have been wearing as long as he’d known him making him look rather sickly besides, the boy was _attractive._ Like, _damn! So help me God_ attractive.

    “You’re annoying and dramatic and sarcastic,” Harry slurred, “but I don’t think you’re all bad.  Sucks that I’m not enough of a Gryffindor to tell you for real, though. So I guess I’ll tell fever you.  Fever you _feels_ real enough.”

    “I _am_ real, Potter,” Draco felt compelled to say, even though he was enjoying whatever _this…_ was.

    “See?” Harry continued drunkenly.  “That’s exactly what the _real_ Malfoy would say.  Is this what drugs feels like?”

    “I would say so Potter, considering you’re no doubt on quite a lot of them at the moment to keep you from joining your parents.”  He tried to be mean, hoping that would lead Harr- _Potter_ to let go of his hand so he could leave, because the contact was doing terrible, exquisitely painful things to him and his cock, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go on his own.

    Potter didn’t seem bothered by the jab, however, merely blundering on.  “Call me Harry, you dumb git,” he mumbled. “I’m itchy and tired and everything hurts and this is _my_ fever dream, after all, so the least you could do is call me Harry.”

    Draco was about to try to protest (no doubt unsuccessfully and rather weakly to begin with) that he really shouldn’t do that when Harry pulled him closer with a surprising amount of strength for someone so weak, skinny, and ill, and began rubbing up against him and making these idiotic (but somehow still adorable) half-purring, half-moaning noises.

    “Mmmm,” he sighed, “that’s better.  You’re a very _hot_ scratching post, you know.  Think I’m gonna come soon- two birds with one stone, you know?  You ever heard that expression?”

    “I uh…” that was all Draco had time for before his torso was covered in Potter’s semen.  This was a weird day.

    “I can normally go a lot longer,” Harry told him conversationally, “but it’s been a really long week and I really needed that, y’know?”

    Well, if Draco’s sense of honor was going to keep him from satisfying his own pulsing erection, he figured he might as well use the opportunity to get answers out of Potter, then.

    “Who else have you had sex with, then?” He asked.  He wasn’t sure why he said _else,_ honestly.  After all, Potter grinding on him in a sickness-induced haze hardly counted as _sex._

“Never had sex,” Potter admitted, far more easily than he would have if he had been in his right mind or if he had thought Draco was real.  “Just meant that I can go a lot longer when I’m wanking to the thought of you. Ron’s always bugging me to tell him who I like, but it’s not like I could admit that it’s you, y’know?  So I tell him it’s Ginny. He knows I’m joking, of course, but at least it gets him to shut up.”

    “Right then…” Draco was truly out of words, at this point.  Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey chose that moment to come check on her patient.

    _“What on earth_ is going on here?!” She thundered at him, and Draco realised that this probably looked quite bad, him half-on top of a barely-cognizant Potter and covered in cum.  

    “I uh… I was just trying to check on him- he was talking in his sleep and making the temperature go mad, so I pulled the curtains back to tell him to cut it out and then he started doing this…”

    Madame Pomfrey stared at him very hard for a moment before apparently discerning by the look on his face that he was serious.

    “Very well then,” she said.  “But he needs to rest, as do you, not to mention he shouldn’t be scratching… in _any_ manner.”

    “Yes ma’am,” Draco capitulated, hanging his head and casting his eyes towards the floor.  “Sorry.”

    “I suppose it _is_ a rather odd situation, and it looks like you got the worst of it,” she remarked wryly, looking at his midsection- still covered in the most _intimate_ parts of Potter- and cast a scourgify.  Then she bundled him off to bed with a dreamless sleep, and he knew no more for a while…

____

    When Draco next awoke, it was with a hot weight on his chest, and he blinked blearily as he realised it was _Potter,_ whose dark skin was a stark and unmistakable contrast to his own.

    “Mornin’,” the other told him, still clearly out of it.  “Got cold again last night, but I didn’t wanna mess with the weather and make you feel bad again, so I came over to cuddle, and since you’re just a figment of my imagination I figured it would be okay.  Never got to cuddle as a kid, although I guess my cupboard was so small I was almost cuddling with myself sometimes…”

    Despite the extraneous nature of the situation, Draco was horrified.  “They made you live in a _cupboard?!”_ He squeaked, just as he realised that Harry was lying belly-down on top of him, and that the scars on his back were even worse than those on his chest.

    “Yep,” Harry stated simply, apparently oblivious to his inner battle (as he was to many things, although certainly not as many as people seemed to believe.  He was actually quite observant, just more in the way that was required for survival. The Dursleys had inadvertently seen to that). “Cupboard under the stairs.  It was kinda cramped, but at least the spiders were friendly. Nicer than my relatives, for sure.”

    “Oh…”

    “S’okay though,” Harry said, yawning widely and lying his scarred, fevered forehead back against Draco’s chest as he spoke into it.  “Never have to go back, so that’s nice. Guess I have dragon pox to thank for that, even if they itch like a mother fucker. Speaking of, I think I’m getting a bit of the anti-itching salve on you.  I know you’re not real, but I should still say sorry.”

    _Yes,_ Draco thought.   _You should.  This stuff_ **_stinks._ ** But he was holding Potter, almost able to pretend this was normal, so he didn’t quite mind.

    “Told you to call me Harry, remember?” The darker boy mumbled into Draco’s night shirt.

    “I didn’t _say_ anything,” Draco rasped, now quite concerned.

    “Yeah, butcha _thought_ it,” Harry sighed.  “I guess mind-reading is one of the funny things my magic is doing.  Don’t worry though, I won’t tell anyone anything. And we’ll help your mum.  Not gonna let you have to do that.”

    _Great,_ now Potter knew about the horrible things he had done, and was _going_ to do.  He could only hope he didn’t remember them later.

    “It’s nice to be loved,” Harry continued, and _fucking fantastic!_ Now he knew about the one thing Draco wanted him to know even _less_ than the fact that he was actively trying to kill the headmaster.  “I think I could love you too, if this was real. I didn’t get love before Ron and Hermione, so I really like it.  I guess you could say I _love_ it.”  Then he giggled absurdly at his own dumb joke, and Draco couldn’t help but join in.  The situation was just so _strange._

“I’ve simply decided to stop him from trying to crawl into your bed,” the healer suddenly remarked as she came bustling in.  “I kept putting sticking charms to him, to keep him in his own, but he merely breaks them. And anyway, I have a feeling you don’t quite mind,” she said, noting the soft look in Draco’s grey eyes.

    “He thinks it’s a hallucination anyway,” the blonde eventually sighed, one hand unconsciously reaching up to card through Harry’s sweaty curls, gently ghosting over the pox on his scalp so as not to irritate them further.

    “And that’s probably made him more open with you than he’s been with anyone else, yes?” She sighed, running a hand through her bun, which was falling in loose wisps from its normally neat state.

    “Yes…”

    “I trust that you’ll keep his secrets, then?  He’s been too ill for me to allow for other visitors, so you’re the only one in the world who knows whatever he’s chosen to tell you.  If people start talking, I will know who’s told them, and there will be hell to pay, mark my words.” She said each words sharply and slowly, putting emphasis on every syllable.  It was clear, even if she wouldn’t admit it, that she cared very deeply for Harry, more so than for any other patient.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Draco agreed instantly.  Even without the threat, he wouldn’t have. He was touched by the amount of trust Harry (he’d given up on calling him Potter by this point) had placed in him, even when he thought it wasn’t _really_ him.  For the moment, he would just enjoy pretending this was real, pretending that this wasn’t something he could never have outside of here and now.

    “Good.”  Poppy nodded decisively.  “Now, I want to talk about you for a moment- I think I’m going to have to keep you for another week.  Your magical core was severely exhausted. I won’t ask you what you were doing, but I just want you to know there are other options.”  Strictly speaking, three days would have done just fine, but she had seen the way Harry looked at Malfoy, the way he looked back at Harry- _that_ couldn’t be chalked up to the dragon pox.  Harry would be back to his normal self in another week or so, and it might have been a bit unorthodox for a nurse to play matchmaker, but, as unlikely as she would have thought it a few days before, this was what was best for both of them.

    “Alright,” Draco sighed.  He knew enough about the natural progression of dragon pox to know that, factoring in a weak immune system, a week past the hallucinatory stage would see Harry all better and fully aware of his surroundings.  And yet… he would never get this opportunity again, never get to hold Harry, or to see him vulnerable, and after this the other teen probably wouldn’t even _talk_ to him, so he wanted to make the most of this _now._

____

    Even having decided to seize his opportunity, Draco underestimated just how open and vulnerable and _cuddly_ Harry could be when his walls were down.   There were no more… _sexual…_ incidents, but Harry was practically _on top_ of him every moment of the day, whining whenever the blonde had to get up to use the bathroom or shower or do anything outside of bed.  Harry was rather unsteady on his own feet, at the moment, so he had to be helped to do those things himself, and Draco was the only one he would let help him to do it.  It was very hard for Draco not to let himself slip into the illusion that Harry really _was_ his, that they were dating and that maybe the other boy even loved him back.  If he were being totally honest, sometimes he even forgot these things, for a short period of time.  It was difficult _not_ to when Harry held him and clung to him and nattered on about anything and everything, from subjects that made Draco’s blood curl (like his childhood or what had happened in the graveyard that night) to silly little things that made next to no sense to Draco (like how teachers had first names, which Harry in his loopy delirium seemed to find very strange, for some reason).

    The spots had faded gradually until, on day 8 (and yes, Poppy had let him have an extra day- he wasn’t even lying to himself anymore that she didn’t know _exactly_ what was going on), Draco woke to clear-skinned Harry (the man _never_ got spots or acne or _anything_ \- it was totally unfair) wrapped around him like a koala bear, snoring peacefully against the taller, paler teen.

    “You’re ridiculous, Potter,” Draco sighed, but it was with fondness this time.  He was still too skinny and too sickly and too scarred, but _Merlin,_ he was gorgeous.

    Even though he said it quietly, this caused Harry to stir.  Back to being as healthy as he’d ever been, he’d resorted to his normal light, ready-to-jump-up-and-fight-for-his-life-at-any-moment sleeping patterns.  He lifted his head, and his green eyes were clear as he blinked them open, the full weight of the situation dawning on him.

    “So it was real,” he sighed tiredly, the cares of the world once again on his shoulders.  While he was sick, itching and discomfort had been his biggest problems, and now he literally seemed to crumple as the larger ones came rushing back in a crushing heap.

    “Yeah,” Draco said carefully, waiting for Harry to push off of him and tell him to go away and never talk to him again.  Madame Pomfrey explained that while he was unaware of what was happening much of the time _while_ he was sick, the unique nature of the disease and his strong magic meant that he would quite possibly be aware of most or all of what had happened during that time once he’d recovered.

    “Oh,” Harry mumbled, but made no move to get off of Draco, surprising the blonde.  Screwing up all of his Gryffindor courage, he looked the other in the face, green eyes meeting grey.  “Well,” he said, “I meant every bit of it.” It should have been harder to admit, but now that the sickness was gone, the hazy element had faded, and the past week felt just as real to him as it had to Draco.

    The blonde, however, had to stop his jaw from dropping (and was entirely unsuccessful).  “You… you did?”

    “Yeah,” Harry shrugged, but somehow the movement carried far more weight than it should have.  “I can tell your feelings were real, and just because I was sick doesn’t mean that my feelings changed.  It just gave them a way to grow.”

    “Oh,” Draco said, blushing brilliantly.  “So you actually wanna (yes, it wasn’t the proper way of speaking, but he’d picked up the colloquial contraction from Harry) do this, then?  Save my mother, protect me from the task I was given?”

    “No,” Harry answered, and Draco’s face fell, but Harry wasn’t done as he took the blonde’s hand.  “I wanna do all that _and_ be your boyfriend.”  The small scar under his chin from where he’d somehow managed a good enough scratch to leave a mark peeked out at Draco, and by impulse he reached up and kissed it.

    “I… I don’t know what to say…”

    “Then don’t say anything,” Harry told him, intertwining their fingers.  “We don’t need to.”

    Once Madame Pomfrey had released him (after giving Harry a long list of potions that he was to take to Snape to brew for him, and then to take three times a day for the foreseeable future to correct as much of the damage done by the Dursleys as possible), they got to their feet, Harry still a bit shaky on his.  After everything that had happened, however, he wasn’t ashamed of leaning on Draco for support until he regained his balance, and they walked out, hand in hand, towards a new future.


End file.
